


watching you, watching me

by fakeplasticlily



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Tumblr: makoharufestival, Watching, this is the smuttiest thing i've ever written i'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 17:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakeplasticlily/pseuds/fakeplasticlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Makoto watches, and Haruka wants. [Written for the MakoHaru Festival.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	watching you, watching me

now with gorgeous art by [natsui](http://natsui.tumblr.com)! thank you so much rayne! ♥

 

From when they were very little, Makoto has always had his eyes on Haru a bit more than was strictly necessary.

Of the million other things about Makoto that Haru has made certain to learn over the years they’ve spent together, being able to sense Makoto’s eyes on him has been perhaps one of the easiest. Yet as much of a constant as it has been in his life, it’s also been one of the most changeable and confusing.

When they were children, sensing Makoto’s eyes on him would make Haru feel big and important, and filled him with warmth and pride. Makoto used to look up to him, follow his lead in everything, and seek comfort from him when he was scared. He liked being there for the frightened-looking little boy who lived next door and always hung around behind him, he liked seeing him smile, and being the one to protect that smile, even though he didn’t admit it out loud.

As they grew older, the fierce protectiveness that Makoto had always inspired in him stayed, but it brought other feelings with it too. At first, a slight irritation at his ability to read him so well, at the way he always by his side, ready to extend a hand to him whenever he needed it—because weren’t people supposed to leave him? Isn’t that what they always did?

But Makoto stayed, with his kind smile and his warm green eyes and that hand that Haru knew would be always waiting for him to hold, and for the longest time he didn’t know what to do with all the things that made him feel.

Then as the years passed, that irritation only intensified because suddenly, the feeling of Makoto’s gaze on him filled him with more emotions he wasn’t ready to identify. Makoto wasn’t the skinny, scared-looking little child who clung to him all the time anymore—he was tall and muscled and broad-shouldered and the kind of gorgeous that made you crave things that weren’t strictly appropriate with your best friend; with the sort of beautiful green eyes that made your entire being threaten to burst into flames with the way he looked at you sometimes, as your heart beat fast enough to rip out of your chest.

… Because clearly, it was Makoto’s own fault for being so stupidly attractive. Not that Nanase Haruka could be a little—or a lot—gay for his best friend. Oh no, not at all.

Finally, on one snowy winter evening as they were walking home from the train station after a day spent shopping in the city, Makoto had pulled Haru under a tree to wrap his scarf around both their necks. There, time stopped as they looked into each other’s eyes, and Makoto had kissed him.

That’s when it all got worse.

Because as they started to explore new areas of their relationship (and each others’ anatomy) Makoto’s looks began to take on new and infinitely more embarrassing meanings. And if the _you’re beautiful_ and _I want to hold your hand_ and _I’m so in love with you_ and _I really want to kiss you right now_ were bad enough, it has nothing on _I’m picturing you naked right now with my mouth and hands all over you as you ride me so hard you can’t remember your own name._

It’s something like this last one that Haru’s Makoto-senses tingle with now, through the flashing neon lights of the nightclub burning into his retinas and the trance music pulsing the floor, and that’s when he knows he’s well and truly screwed.

And not the good kind; well, at least not yet.

As most of their poorly thought out plans were, it was Nagisa’s idea to come to this club, on the occasion of Rei turning 18—the last of their group to do so. Inside, it’s easy to forget it’s the middle of winter, with the bodies pressed up close and the adrenaline you could literally taste pumping through the veins of every person in the room.

Haru doesn’t dance. He considers it pointless, and too much effort, and the only time he’s ever done is when he’d got drunk with Makoto at his house once and they’d spent the evening slow dancing to cheesy love songs.

So he’d been content to sit at the bar next to Makoto, watching Nagisa and Rei and Rin and Nitori pair off to dance. But he could tell Makoto wanted to dance, with the way he kept tapping out the beat on the bar, so finally, despite some resistance, he’d managed to urge him to go join them.

He’d watched his boyfriend dance for a while, suppressing a smile—Makoto was a terrible dancer, really, but he looked adorable flailing around happily with Rin like the pair of dorks they were.

Eventually, somehow, Nagisa had dragged him onto the dance floor as well—it was dull sitting at the bar with Makoto not beside him, and seeing all the couples getting up close and personal was starting to give him ideas. And all right—maybe the music was impossible not to feel like moving to.

Once he’s on the floor, though, he’s a little miffed to find that Makoto is nowhere to be seen. Nagisa abandons him for Rei, and Rin is cosying up with Nitori again, so with nothing else to do, Haru starts to slowly sway his body to the music.

He doesn’t really think much about it, but the music and the atmosphere have clouded his brain quite a bit. So he moves his hips and arms languidly, and eventually his thoughts drift to Makoto.

Makoto.

With all the force of a freight train, he’s hit by the realisation that he wants him—badly, right now. And simultaneously, he senses The Look—the worst possible one of Makoto’s Looks that could be trained on him while they were in a crowded club—drinking in his every move.

Was dancing in a club surrounded by sweaty couples grinding against each other supposed to be this erotic? With the knowledge that Makoto is staring at him, Haru feels every nerve ending in his body spike with anticipation as his movements unconsciously grow more sensual, teasing.

It’s not unlike being in the water, really, this feeling of being enveloped in the music and the weight of Makoto’s gaze on him. Haru feels fluid, free—and he rolls his neck and runs his hands over his body as his hips keep up their steady rhythm. He hadn’t really thought too much about these tight leather jeans that Makoto had suggested he should buy—though Makoto had given him a funny look when he’d tried them on, and hadn’t wasted a second before jumping him once they were at Haru’s house afterwards.

But oh, is he glad he decided to wear them today.

Unable to help himself, he glances over his shoulder, and finds Makoto watching him from the bar. He has a drink in his hand—which explains his absence from the dance floor—and his green eyes are heavy lidded, running all over his body like an intimate caress. Then he licks his lips, and Haru’s knees almost buckle.

He whips his head back around, a wave of anger passing through him. How dare Makoto manage to make him feel so flustered and lose control without doing anything at all? How dare he just sit there, able to keep himself under control while it was taking every bit of self-restraint Haru had to not launch himself at his boyfriend right in the middle of this club?

Fucking Makoto, always trying to be nice, putting his own needs last. For once, he’d like to work him up to the point that he couldn’t hold back any longer, and drag him away to have his way with him.

He’s been attracting a lot of attention for a while but this is the first time he actually notices—they haven’t really mattered till now. But desperate times call for desperate measures, so he gives the man closest to him a look, and he immediately takes it as invitation to come up closer to dance with him.

Haru wouldn’t dream of touching this man, or even angling his body towards him, but he doesn’t move away, and hopefully that’s all that will be necessary.

And it is—it feels like mere seconds have passed when familiar hands settle at his waist, fingers curling possessively around him. There’s a constant string of murmurs against his ear as he’s steered towards a corner of the dance floor.

"Won’t let anyone see you like that—They’re not allowed—You’re mine, for my eyes only—Ah, Haru, do you have any idea what you look like right now—"

Haru’s brain feels like it’s going to short-circuit at the words, spoken low and heated against his ear, but it’s not enough, so he stops, and starts to move to the music against his boyfriend’s front. Dipping his head back onto Makoto’s shoulder and exposing the long pale column of his throat to him, he rolls his hips expansively and grinds into his crotch almost punishingly, as revenge for not coming up to claim him sooner.

Makoto lets out a strangled moan and tightens his hold on his waist. “Haru…” he gasps, and presses fitful kisses against his throat. Haru grinds against him one more time, pleased to note how hard he is by now, and that’s when Makoto snaps.

Grabbing him by the hand, he drags him out to the dimly lit corridor. There are doors to the men’s and women’s bathrooms to the side, but Makoto crosses them till they’re right at the end, hidden from view of whoever decides to go to the bathrooms by an old, definitely malfunctioning set of speakers.

The moment they’re in there, Makoto pins Haru against the wall and crushes his lips against his.

His hands travel down Haru’s body to settle at his ass, almost hitching him up a few inches up the wall with the force of the kiss. Mouth hot and insistent, his tongue plunges into Haru’s mouth in promise of a far more intimate act hopefully before the night is over. Haru’s knees really do buckle this time, but he’s past the point of caring, and clings to Makoto’s jacket as he’s kissed to within an inch of his life.

He loves this dominant side of Makoto’s, the side that can’t help but drag him to a corner, for once in his life unable to put his own needs last, and take and take what he wants. And he loves being the one who can make Makoto lose his control enough to do that.

For now, though, Haru can’t think about anything else except this desperate need for Makoto coursing madly through his veins, and he allows Makoto to tip his head back and kiss him so hard and deep he feels light-headed.

"Makoto," he groans, trying to convey everything he wants Makoto to do to him with just one word. He opens his eyes as he breaks the kiss, and Makoto’s eyes travel from the string of saliva connecting their lips to his flushed cheeks to his eyes, and whatever he sees in them—and Haru can hazard a guess as to the raw need reflected in them, though it can be only a fraction of what he’s actually feeling—draws a strangled gasp from the back of Makoto’s throat.

He swoops in to nibble lightly at Haru’s neck, soothing the delicate skin with flicks of his tongue. Barely capable of breathing properly, Haru wraps one leg around Makoto’s waist because he thinks he might crumble to his knees without the extra support.

Then Makoto draws back abruptly, and looks at the trail of bruises he’s marked into Haru’s skin in dismay. “I’m sorry, Haru!” he wails, “I got a bit, er… carried away! Did I hurt you?”

With a huff of frustration, Haru smacks him lightly on both cheeks. “For the love of water, Makoto,” he deadpans, “Don’t apologise.”

Makoto gives him a long, searching look, then the worry in his eyes dissipates back into the heat they’d burning with earlier. “Good,” he murmurs hoarsely, “Because I want you too much right now and it’s getting pretty impossible to hold back.”

“Then don’t hold ba—”

But his words catch in his throat as Makoto hikes up his shirt to his shoulders and bends down before him. Reaching out a hand to roughly thumb his nipple, he sucks hot, open-mouthed kisses over his chest down to his other nipple to tease it between his teeth.

Biting his lip to prevent himself from moaning out loud enough to draw the attention of everyone in the club, Haru twines his fingers in Makoto’s hair and arches his body into his touch.

Makoto swiftly kisses down his abdomen, pausing a moment to dip his tongue into his navel, before reaching for the zip of Haru’s trousers, taking one look up at him to make sure it was okay. Once he has his trousers down to his knees, he starts to tongue him through his boxers. (After taking a moment to appreciate the fact that he hasn’t actually come to a nightclub with jammers on underneath.)

Haru bites down into his shirt, bunched up to his shoulders, to suppress the moans threatening to tear out of him already. Then Makoto pulls his boxers down and puts his mouth on his cock, and he can’t hold back—voice muffled in the fabric, thankfully.

Gripping the base of his cock, Makoto runs his tongue over it, and swallows him down.

Haru shuts his eyes, tipping his head back against the wall as Makoto bobs his head up and down, sucking him in earnest. There’s something about the fact that they’re within mere feet of so many other people, that anyone could come here any time and see them, and it drives Haru closer and closer to the edge.

Then Makoto looks up at him, lips stretched around his cock, and that’s all it takes for Haru to come.

Wiping his lips, Makoto gets to his feet to capture Haru’s lips in a filthy kiss, the taste of Haru mingling between their mouths and almost threatening to get Haru hard again. He palms Makoto’s jeans—he’s rock hard—and pulls away at once.

They look at each other, and in a moment reach an unspoken agreement—Makoto hurriedly types out a text to Rin, Haru and I are leaving. Then he takes Haru by the hand, and they make their way toward the exit without looking like they’re in too much of a hurry.

The walk back home is the quickest they’ve ever taken to cover the distance, crossing almost from one end of Iwatobi to the other in barely twenty minutes. They would have made it even quicker, if it weren’t for the number of times they stopped at dark corners away from streetlamps to furiously kiss.

They run up the stairs to Haru’s house, and once the door is locked behind them, they start kissing against it till Makoto breaks apart with a groan. “Lube and condoms… They’re upstairs, aren’t they?”

With a huff of frustration, Haru grabs him by the hand and pulls him upstairs to his room.

Makoto has barely managed to take off his jacket and start unbuttoning his shirt when Haru suddenly pushes him back on the bed. Blinking, he looks up at his boyfriend looming over him.

Perching himself on Makoto’s lap with his knees on the bed on either side, Haru swats away his boyfriend’s hands as he reaches out for him.

"No touching till I say so," he mutters, cheeks reddening as he looks to the side.  
He starts to unbutton his shirt. It feels ridiculous, trying to make something like undressing look erotic. But despite himself, he’s researched some of the overenthusiastic advice Nagisa has given him ever since he and Makoto started dating, and he wants to try them all out with his boyfriend at least once. Makoto has always been worth the effort, after all.

But Makoto doesn’t laugh; his eyes follow his every movement with that same intensity from earlier, hands clenched at his sides as if to physically restrain himself from touching Haru. Once Haru is done unbuttoning his shirt, he slides it off his shoulders, rolling his hips and arching his torso like he’d been doing in the club.

Makoto’s eyes widen at the sight, and as he attempts to grind up against him, Haru feels his hardness between his ass cheeks and it thrills him to see what an effect he’s having on him.

Oh, this has definitely been worth it.

Lifting himself from Makoto’s lap, he pulls his trousers and boxers off in one smooth motion, before settling back down again. There’s something about being naked in his almost fully-clothed boyfriend’s lap that excites Haru more than he’d like to admit.

"H-Haru…" Makoto manages to choke out, and Haru decides it’s time to put him out of his suffering. Placing his hands on Makoto’s shoulders, he leans in to kiss him.

At once, Makoto lunges closer to crush him in his arms as he kisses back.

"Shit, Haru," he groans, as he breaks the kiss to start lavishing attention on his neck, "You’re so—God, the things I want to do to you right now—"

As he starts sucking a trail of kisses down his throat, Haru attempts to unbutton the rest of Makoto’s shirt, but the hands touching him all over are more than a little distracting. Finally, Makoto pulls back to shrug off his shirt with a powerful roll of his shoulders that makes Haru’s cock twitch, and shifts them further up the bed.

Reaching out to the side table to draw out condoms and lube, he looks down for a moment, biting his lip as if in consideration.

“Haru,” he murmurs at last; his voice low but it’s definitely an order. “Finger yourself.”

Haru chokes back a groan at the quiet command—ever since he’d felt Makoto’s eyes on him back at the club his brain has been subconsciously supplying images of this very situation. He’s never been more grateful of Makoto’s ability to read him so well.

Quickly slathering his fingers with lube, he scrambles to get on his hands and knees. He feels Makoto’s large, calloused hands on the backs of his thighs, spreading him apart.

“That’s right,” he hears Makoto murmur under his breath, as he pushes one finger inside, “Open yourself up for me, stretch your hole for my cock.”

Gasping at the words, and the way he crooks his own finger inside himself, Haru bites his lip so he doesn’t cry out.

Then Makoto unzips his trousers, and Haru is probably the worst kind of pervert for this, but just hearing the sound of that behind him is enough to spike his arousal to the point that he starts leaking pre-cum.

He adds another finger, and the stretch and burn is nothing compared to the white-hot arousal sparking down his spine, though he isn’t even being touched right now. Unable to help himself, he turns his head to glance around at Makoto.

Makoto is watching his fingers work himself open with a single-minded attentiveness that makes Haru’s mouth go dry, as he lazily pumps his cock. Then he honest-to-god licks his lips, and Haru feels like he could come from that alone.

“Makoto…” he groans, and he’s so far gone that he can’t even bring himself to feel embarrassed at the neediness in his voice.

He hears Makoto shifting; he nears, and stretches his long body over his, all the while touching him all over like he can’t keep his hands off him. Starting at the base of his neck, he starts kissing down the column of his spine, all the way the dip of the small of his back to the swell of his ass.

He hovers over him for a long moment, during which Haru feels like he could combust from the anticipation alone—then suddenly, his tongue is pushing its way into his hole alongside his fingers.

Haru wasn’t expecting that—fingers stilling inside himself, he lets out a cry. They’ve never done this before, but Makoto seems more than willing to try.

Prying Haru’s fingers away gently, he swirls his tongue around and plunges it in past the ring of muscle, reaching around to stroke his cock a few times to make him relax. Haru can’t help it; he buries his face in the pillow and screams into it.

Finally, Makoto draws back and pushes two slicked-up fingers inside, then adds a third, making sure he’s properly stretched.

Haru hears the clink of a belt and the whoosh of fabric as Makoto pulls off his trousers and tosses them off the bed. Then he grabs a pillow and gently lifts Haru up to place it below him.

Pressing a kiss to Haru’s shoulder, he murmurs, “I’m going in now, okay?”

Haru feels the familiar intrusion, filling him up steadily till Makoto’s seated fully inside. Then, grabbing both of Haru’s wrists and pinning them down, he starts to move.

Gasping, Haru bucks back, desperate for more and needing him deeper and harder than ever before. They set up a steady rhythm between them, Makoto’s thrusts powerful enough to rock the whole bed.

Haru tilts his head to the side, needing to see those eyes that have been watching him all night. Makoto’s flushed and panting as he thrusts into him, brown hair flopping messily into his eyes, but he catches Haru’s eye and reads him at once.

Pulling out, he flips Haru around carefully, brushes his hair out of his eyes, and plunges back inside him in a single smooth motion. With Makoto looking directly into his eyes, Haru knows he won’t last long, and if the way Makoto’s thrusts have grown erratic are indication, he probably won’t either.

Reaching up on his elbows, Haru kisses him—though it’s more just a sloppy and messy tangling of tongues. Wrapping his arms around Makoto’s shoulders, probably scratching light nail marks into his broad back, Haru pulls away from the kiss, sees the way Makoto is looking at him, and that’s all it takes him to come.

With a cry, he flops back on the bed, pulling Makoto down with him, and as he clenches down on Makoto’s cock with the force of his orgasm, he climaxes too.

They stay like that for the longest time, sprawled across each other as they catch their breaths. “You’re heavy,” Haru mumbles at last, and with an embarrassed laugh, Makoto pulls out and rolls off him.

He’s almost too spent to move himself, but he reaches over Haru to get a few tissues from the beside table and clean them up as far as he can.

"We’ll take a bath in the morning," he murmurs, flinging the tissues and the used condom in the general direction of the waste bin.

Haru can feel sleep overtake him as Makoto looks at him, eyes tender and so full of love despite the sleepiness itching at them too.

As he drifts off into sleep, Haru’s last thought is to idly wonder how it’s possible to feel overcome with emotion every time Makoto looks at him, even now, after spending so many years together. And they’re only nineteen now, but he’s sure that if he were to spend every day of the rest of his life with him—as he aches to, though he isn’t ready to tell him just yet—he’ll find something new in those green depths to stir his heart in a different way every single time.

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [makoharu festival](http://makoharufestival.tumblr.com). if you took the time to reblog/like my entry [here](http://makoharufestival.tumblr.com/post/73420878231/challenge-watching-user-paper-lilies), i'd really appreciate it :) and do try to check out the other festival entries too!


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